The harsh winter weather settled in and snowploughs and troops with shovels had to work day and night to keep the streets of the city clear of slush and ice. Trams and buses only got through with difficulty. The streets were lined with snow-covered cars, stuck and deserted by their drivers.
No one in the house was keen to go out in the foul weather, which meant that Bernie and I ended up running more errands than usual. Late one afternoon, when we had just returned from buying snuff for Flintheart, Gordon brought an envelope he wanted us to deliver to Neil Fingus. It was a thin packet, so the bookmaker wasn’t going to be too happy. Bernie already looked fearful—he knew what to expect.
The cold nipped my cheeks when we stepped out into Oswald Street again. The whistling wind blew flurries of spindrift from every alley and side street. The city was blanketed in a whirling, white haze and the streets were almost deserted. 287The lights in the windows along the Broomielaw shone warm in the gathering darkness.
Shanley’s Bar was packed when Bernie and I arrived. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and the stale smell of wet woollen clothes. Neil Fingus was sitting in the separate booth where he always sat. And as usual, the bodyguard with the bent nose and the pipe was watching over him.
Neil Fingus told Bernie to take a seat, and then he caught both Bernie and me by surprise by asking whether Bernie would like something to drink.
“A hot toddy, perhaps?” he said. “It’s the devil’s own weather out there.”
It may be that Bernie didn’t think that the offer was a serious one, or perhaps he didn’t know what a toddy was. Whatever the reason, he didn’t give an answer.
“A toddy is just what you need!” Neil Fingus decided it for him and made a sign to his bodyguard.
The man with the crooked nose nodded in response and began threading his way through the tables to the bar. Neil Fingus turned back to Bernie.
“Now then,” he said. “What is it you’ve brought for me today?”
Bernie handed over the envelope from Gordon and then took a step back, waiting for the bookmaker to take out his 288anger on him. But Neil Fingus didn’t say a word. He just counted the few banknotes and then entered the sum in a battered accounts book.
Meanwhile, I could see that Bent Nose had reached the bar. He exchanged a few words with the landlord and was allowed in behind the bar, where he took the handset of the telephone on the wall, dialled a number and waited for an answer. The conversation that followed was very short. After putting down the handset, he exchanged a few more words with the landlord before returning to Neil Fingus’s table.
“I’ve ordered a hot toddy, Mr Fingus,” he said, giving his boss a conspiratorial wink.
Neil Fingus nodded before turning back to Bernie.
“And how are things with Moira these days? Business going well, I hope?”
Bernie mumbled something inaudible and kept his eyes down. Then a waitress came over and placed a big, steaming pewter mug in front of Bernie. There was a strong smell of whisky.
Bernie sniffed at it cautiously and grimaced. “I’m sorry, Mr Fingus, I don’t drink spirits…”
“What!” Mr Fingus snapped. “When Neil Fingus is offering, you’ll drink what you’re given! Drink up now—it’ll keep you warm for the rest of the day!” 289
Bernie forced himself to take a sip of the drink and immediately burst into a fit of coughing. He went red in the face and his eyes filled with tears. Neil Fingus laughed and leant across the table to thump Bernie’s back hard several times.
“There you go, there you go,” he said. “The first couple of mouthfuls might be difficult to get down, but it gets easier, you’ll see!”
Bernie drank a little more and managed to suppress his coughs. He was about to put the mug down to catch his breath, when Mr Fingus stopped him.
“You’re not going to let the toddy go cold, I hope? That would be very bad manners, Bernie. Come on now, bottoms up! Toddy works best when it’s hot!”
Bernie closed his eyes, screwed up his face in a look of suffering and drank. I felt more and more uncomfortable and concerned. What was actually going on here?
Bernie eventually emptied the mug.
Neil Fingus took a quick look at the pocket watch that he kept on the desk alongside the accounts book and said, “You’ll have to excuse me now, Bernie, I’ve got other business to deal with. Tell Gordon from me that he still owes me eight pounds and ten shillings. I expect my money within two days or I shall be forced to resort to bare-knuckle methods.”
“Right, Mr Fingus…” Bernie mumbled, standing up unsteadily. 290
Bent Nose, his short pipe clenched in his teeth, grinned, as did Neil Fingus. But they weren’t smiles of kindness.
The moment we stepped out of the pub, Bernie slipped on a patch of ice. He grabbed my arm and just managed to keep his balance. The hot toddy had gone straight to his head. We started walking back towards Anderston Cross, with Bernie taking small, cautious steps and keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead. This walk is going to be a long story, I thought.
But I was wrong.
We hadn’t gone farther than fifty yards before a big, white Plymouth drew in to the pavement in front of us. Two men got out quickly, one from each side of the car, trapping us between the car and the wall of the building.
Then one of the car’s back doors opened and a voice from the darkness inside said, “Bernie, come here. And bring the ape with you.”
Bernie stayed where he was, swaying slightly. The men who’d got out of the car moved closer.
The light of a gas lamp glinted on a revolver and the man in front of us said, “Do as Mr Tarantello says. Into the car now!”